


Dragon Tamer: A Very Drarry Christmas

by MollyCollywobbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 25 Days of Christmas, Angst, Christmas, Dragons, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Motorcycles, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Returning Home, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyCollywobbles/pseuds/MollyCollywobbles
Summary: When, seven years after the war, Narcissa tells Draco she has arranged for them to return to England to stay with her sister and great-nephew at the old Black Townhouse in London, Draco expects awkward family breakfasts with an aunt and cousin he's never met, uncomfortable luncheons with his matchmaking mother and the Greengrasses, and dinners taken up to the attic so he can tinker in peace. He does not, however, expect Harry Potter, but fate always does seem to push them together, doesn't it?Also, in chapter five, a dragon gets loose in Wiltshire.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Gregory Goyle/Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 72





	1. Thursday, 1 December 2005

**Author's Note:**

> That's right, a Christmas fic being posted after Christmas is already over. This fic is fully outlined and ready to write, but I have a baby at home and I haven't written fiction in ten years, so my goal is to have all chapters completed and published by Christmas 2020. This should work out to about two chapters a month and a bonus Christmas chapter. Thanks for reading!

Draco is not late for his cross-channel portkey from the Charles De Gaulle EU Portkey Terminal to its British counterpart at Heathrow. No, he’s been here over an hour already, having factored in the extra time needed to get through security; international travel is less easy for those on terrorist watchlists. He wore a slate gray muggle-style Italian wool suit especially; appearances and first impressions matter. He wanted security to know he had changed. He wanted Aunt Andromeda to know he had changed.

Draco fingered the edging around his sleeve, anxious to be returning to England after all these years. Draco had walked away from the war remarkably lightly and he knew it, even as he and his mother were still climbing their way back into British society from their rather steep fall. His upcoming betrothal to the younger Greengrass girl will help with that. 

Astoria Greengrass comes from a respectable, pureblood family within the sacred twenty eight. They have plenty of money (if not as much as the Malfoys), and their neutrality during the war had ensured the Greengrasses were welcome as they please. However, Astoria has had some recent scandals in the paper; a muggle arrest for being publicly drunk in Trafalgar Square, indecent exposure in the Ministry, getting caught philandering with the wife of a high-profile Member of the Wizamgamot at a charity gala for St. Mungo’s… So now the Greengrasses were desperate to see Astoria married off as soon as possible to protect their respectability, and Narcissa intended to use this to her own advantage.

Draco and Astoria have been communicating by owl post for the last couple weeks now, beginning after Narcissa first wrote to Mrs. Greengrass to restore (practically create) the connection. Before Astoria’s scandals, Narcissa had written the Greengrass girls off as potential matches for Draco; they were too high up on the social ladder for him to reach after the war. He was in a different position for courting than either of them had imagined ten years ago; he should have been one of Englands’ most eligible bachelors, especially as he was now one of the ten wealthiest British wizards under age thirty (per Witch Weekly’s reporting, of course). Inheriting the Lestrange Vaults and properties outright certainly helped. 

Draco had sold all the Lestrange properties to pay war reparations for his family; he didn’t want to deal with them and he felt no loyalty to the Lestrange line. Bellatrix still featured in several of his nightmares seven years later, so he wasn’t about to move into her house. 

He didn’t only have to pay fines as punishment, though he did manage to escape any time in Azkaban. Since he had been a juvenile during most of his more egregious crimes during the war and people- high profile people, even- had testified on his behalf that his crimes had been performed under duress, he had only been sentenced to two years house-arrest, community service, and mandatory anti muggle-hating classes. 

The house-arrest had been the worst of it, for Draco. Who needed dementors when one was already trapped at the site of their worst memories? His father would not have agreed. Lucius had been sent back to Azkaban. There was no escaping it for him; he still had years to serve from his last sentence, plus the ones added for breaking out during the war, and a dozen more for aiding and abetting a known terrorist. Plus all the torture and murder. 

Narcissa, not having taken the Dark Mark, had come out of the war practically free. She did have to perform community service and attend the anti muggle-hating classes, but her house-arrest had been entirely her own making; she had not been sentenced to it. Narcissa had been distraught with grief following the end of the war, and she clung to Draco as though he were her last saving grace. He wanted to pry her metaphorical fingers from their clutch on him and demand she let him live his own life, but he could not do that to her. She was his last saving grace, as well.

Potter had actually told Draco that; that Narcissa was his saving grace, though not in those exact words. It had been right after Draco’s trial, after he had been told he wouldn’t have to go to Azkaban. Draco could hardly hear anything after he received his verdict; the world had narrowed to the dry heat behind his eyes and his sudden, desperate need for fresh air. The halls were too crowded, the ceiling was too low. Draco’s solicitor grabbed him by the upper arm and led him through, auror guards surrounding them to ensure Draco returned to Malfoy Manor without incident. At the elevators, Potter stopped the auror in front of Draco (Dawlish, Draco learned his name was) and asked if he could speak to Malfoy.

Draco had just stared at Potter. The war had been rough on him; the glamour hiding the dark bags under Potter’s eyes wavered under Draco’s gaze and his dress robes practically hung off his skeletal frame. What had Potter been doing since the war? Had anyone been feeding him? And why had he lied to the Wizangamot about what happened this past Easter? Potter made it seem as though they had strategized a mission together so that Draco could transfer ownership of the Elder Wand to him, so that Potter could use it to go on and defeat the Dark Lord. It was ridiculous and made no sense; a bizarre blend of fact and fiction, but the jury ate it up.

All Draco could remember of that holiday was the sheer terror he had felt looking into Potter’s eyes at Malfoy Manor, and vomiting in a twelfth-century vase when Aunt Bellatrix pulled a dagger out of her boot and started carving into Hermione Granger’s arm. Draco was no hero. Yet Potter made it seem as though he had bravely defied the Dark Lord at great personal risk.

“Why?” Draco hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, and it came out like a croak. 

Harry walked around Dawlish and gazed at Draco as though he were searching for something.Their eyes were locked on each other as though there was no one else in the hall. Draco was still catching his breath from hearing his verdict, and he felt every shallow inhale and exhale as he peered past Harry’s hideous thick glasses to the green iris’ beneath. 

“Why?” Draco asked again, this time a whisper. Harry opened and closed his mouth, once. Twice. The third time, Harry bit his lower lip and Draco broke the eye contact and watched as Harry drew his lip into his mouth, then poked his tongue out gently to lick the chapped skin as he released the lip. Draco felt a tightening in his lower belly, and had the oddest desire to reach for Potter and comfort him.

Dawlish coughed, and it brought them out of the reverie. Harry sighed and rubbed at his face with his hands. 

“Look, Malfoy,” Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Your mother really loves you.”

“My mother? What does she have to do with this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just-- just be good to her. She really loves you.” 

It was perhaps the oddest moment of his trial. He asked his mother about it a few weeks later, once the dust had settled and their futures, at least for the next couple years, was decided. She hadn’t answered him though, not really. She had just patted his hand gently and said: “He’s a nice boy.”

Draco thought of Potter’s entreaty often, particularly in those first few months. It became a mantra, of sorts, one that he would repeat often to himself as his mother spiraled out of control with grief over the absence of her husband, the death of her sister, and the distance their once-friends were now putting between themselves and the Malfoy name. 

Be good to her, Draco thought as he gently plied her from his father’s pillow and pressed a damp flannel to her tear streaked face.

Be good to her, Draco thought as he coaxed the scrub brush from her raw, uncalloused hands and led her back to bed, not even checking to see if this particular bloodied spot was real or imaginary.

Be good to her, Draco thought as he refreshed the silencing charm around his bed curtains with a practiced ease to ensure she never heard his screams in the night.

Be good to her, Draco thought as he moved her to Paris the summer his house arrest ended, knowing they both needed to get out of Malfoy Manor before it destroyed any lasting chance they had at happiness. They left as soon as Draco received approval from the ministry to exit the country, and they lived out of a hotel for the first two months. Draco had expected his mother to put up a bit of a fight (after all, she wouldn’t be able to visit his father every other week if they moved to France,) but when he announced one morning at breakfast that he had ordered the elves to pack their luggage for Paris, she had simply replied: “How lovely, darling, and just in time for the fall fashion shows.” 

Paris gave Narcissa her life back. Well, to a degree. Some of the other pureblood families with strong (but not imprisonable) ties to the Dark Lord had also chosen to expatriate to Paris, so Narcissa at least had a few connections that would meet her for tea, and she began rebuilding her social network from there. 

Draco had no NEWTs nor any need for employment, so he spent his days much as he did in the Manor, creating and fixing rare magical artifacts. In Paris, without a manor full of magical furnishings, Draco made his skills known to a few shopkeepers, and occasionally they would refer clients to him, but mostly he charmed simple things to bring his mother joy; a teacup that never gets cold, decorative rocks for her garden that dissuade insects from entering, a hairbrush that never pulls.

Be good to her. 

In some ways, it was a trap. Draco felt consumed by his need to please his mother, much in the way he had been consumed as a child by his need to please his father. It couldn’t be healthy, this transfer of affection, this need for validation, but Draco had been raised on the tenets of familial duty, honor, and tradition, and taking care of his mother fell neatly in that list. As did his impending betrothal.

Draco checked his watch. It had been Grandfather Black’s and it was both astronomical as well as temporal, showing constellations or local time as the wearer dictates. There were three minutes remaining until the portkey activated. Draco was bored and warm from the close proximity to the other passengers. Charles De Gualle was crowded today. There were ten other adults and four children traveling on this portkey (a large, colorful stuffed caterpillar), each holding onto the specific caterpillar’s foot they had been assigned. Draco held the pink foot. 

Draco had passed through security in a total faze, barely noticing the probity-probes and easily surrendering his luggage and wand for inspection. He was surprised that his mother had chosen to do this alone, Narcissa still became anxious easily, but she had wanted to arrive a couple weeks ahead of him to further mend her relationship with her sister before focusing on the preparations for Draco’s betrothal. Draco could hardly blame her; Narcissa and Andromeda had barely seen each other in nearly thirty-five years. Still, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortably adrift without his mother nearby. 

Draco was both nervous and eager to meet his Aunt Andromeda as well as his seven year old cousin, Teddy. He didn’t have much family growing up; everyone had either been dead, imprisoned, or disowned from the family. It had been lonely, being an only child in the Manor, and he was concerned the same might be the case for Teddy growing up in the old Black London Townhouse. 

Draco had been delighted to learn that he and his mother would be staying at 12 Grimmauld Place this winter. He had expected Aunt Andromeda to live in a muggle cottage in the suburbs, but this was a proper wizarding house with centuries of magic built within it. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of artifacts the house held; hopefully Andromeda wouldn’t mind him tinkering around in the attic. He could make himself useful to her if needed, see if there were any repairs required about the house; he had plenty of experience fixing up the manor, of course. If not, maybe he could create some new toys for Teddy, custom made to his interests. What kind of things were seven year olds interested in these days?

“Two minutes to departure!” The portkey attendant called out in French and English from the kiosk behind him. 

“Wait! I’m here. I’m sorry, so sorry. I’ve got my ticket right here; it’s in my pocket, hold on just a sec.”

Draco tensed as he felt a familiar tightening in his lower belly. He recognized that voice. He had heard that voice like a bug in his ear every time his mother had a meltdown, every time he thought of her interests over his own, every time he felt like fleeing his life and leaving her to fend for herself, yet did not. Be good to her. He hated that voice and he was indebted to it. It taunted him through seven years of Hogwarts and war, and has haunted him the seven years since. Draco did not have to turn around to confirm what he already knew. Harry Potter was here. Circe’s tits, he’s not even in England yet.

“Your late.” The portkey attendant was curt. Draco willed himself to stay as he was, holding the pink foot of a large stuffed caterpillar and facing away from the Paris to London portkey kiosk. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. He couldn’t help himself from overhearing, though.

“You are supposed to arrive at least fifteen minutes prior to departure; it says so on your ticket, in English.” 

“I was meant to be here an hour ago, but I got the times crossed.” 

“Well, hurry up then; less than a minute to go. You have the green foot.” 

Potter made his way towards the group holding the caterpillar portkey, and Draco again felt glad he had chosen to wear his muggle suit today. Muggle clothes made him look reformed, and if he had to be face to face with Potter after all these years, he wanted Potter to at least think he had made the right choice when he gave false testimony to the Wizamgamot in Draco’s favor. Plus, the suit was tailor-made to Draco’s measurements and it accentuated his tall, slender form and the slate gray softened the angularity in his face.

Draco stared at the plush caterpillar, unsure if he was ready to meet Potter’s eye, but as Potter walked around the portkey looking for the green foot he’d reserved, Draco couldn’t help himself. He looked up just as Potter noticed him. Their eyes locked and Draco’s breathing slowed. He struggled to look away. Draco could only see Potter’s shoulders and head from behind the other travelers around the portkey, but one thing was clear: Potter had grown since they last saw each other seven years ago. His hair was as unruly as ever, but it looked deliberate now and was long enough to reach his shoulders. And Merlin, what had Potter been doing all this time, to earn shoulders like that? He looked like he could easily toss Draco over and then run some stairs, and wasn’t that an interesting thought?

Draco was well aware his preferences for sexual partners ran masculine, that had long been true. It was one of the reasons his mother thought he and Astoria would make a good match. And it wasn’t as though he’d never wanked to the idea of Harry Potter; who didn’t? But it was always the idea of Harry Potter, not Potter Potter. However, the Potter standing before him made him reconsider. Draco would not mind running his hands up those arms. 

“Thirty seconds!” the attendant announced. “Grab the green foot monsieur! No refunds if you miss your portkey!”

Potter shook himself free of Draco’s gaze and returned to searching the portkey group for his handhold. Draco looked around as well, and realized that the unoccupied green foot Potter was searching for was the one next to his. Of course it was.

“Fifteen seconds!”

“Oh, alright!” Draco sighed. “Potter, it’s this one here.” 

Potter circled around, and the woman standing to Draco’s left shifted over to give him room. Potter slid between the woman and Draco and took hold of the caterpillar, fumbling to get the green foot in his grasp.Their fingers touched, only ever so briefly, but the heat lingered. Heat seemed to radiate from Potter. They were standing so close, and he took up so much space (though Draco was happy to note he still had a couple inches height on Potter.) Potter was near enough that Draco could count the scales on the obsidian dragonhide jacket Potter wore. It was too much. It had been too long since Draco last laid with a man; he couldn’t help himself. Draco took a deep breath in. 

Harry smelled like broomsticks, leather, and pine. It was a rich and comforting scent, yet oddly primal. Harry was golden tanned and, this close, Draco could see chapping on his ears, which were turning an increasingly impossible shade of red. His dragonhide jacket was clearly quality, but made for function rather than fashion, especially considering some of the burns and scratches marring the leather. Draco wanted to bury his nose in it, slip his hands underneath, and feel this hard body envelop his own. 

“Er, hi Malfoy,” Harry said. Draco realized he had been staring, but before he could manage anything as clever to say back as “hello”, the rainbowed caterpillar jerked them forward and their bodies slammed together.

Public portkeys are degrading. They always make Draco nauseous, and the indignity of being knocked about with strangers was nearly too much. If Draco had bought his ticket when he bought his mother’s, he could have had a private portkey too. As it was, Narcissa departed Charles De Gaulle alone and arrived in Heathrow in a private room. Draco bought her the Tea & Time package, so a hot pot of chamomile and peppermint was waiting for his mother when she arrived, and she could use the room for up to twenty minutes while her nerves settled. 

Draco, having procrastinated buying his own ticket to England, was grateful he at least remained upright as the portkey reached its destination. It was more than he could say for Potter, who had fallen back onto the woman behind him. Draco meant to smirk, but the bile rising at the back of his throat prevented it. Breathe. In, out. 

Potter was already standing and helping the woman he had knocked over get to her feet. She giggled as though she weren’t thirty years his senior. Draco looked away. He would not throw up in front of Potter. Breathe. In, out.

“Er, alright there Malfoy?” Draco nodded, not trusting himself yet to open his mouth.

“It’s been a while,” Potter continued. Was he trying to make conversation? Draco stared dumbly.

“I guess we’d better go on then, to the, er, floo’s,” Potter shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked behind him. “They’re a floor down.”

Draco shook out of his faze and scowled. 

“I know where the floo’s are, Potter.” It was harsher than he intended. The words came out and it was like they were in fifth year again, when the stakes at hand were just a quidditch match or the house cup. Except, instead of reaching for his wand or a cutting remark, Potter responded by smiling at him. A genuine smile. Did he have a screw knocked loose?

“It has been awhile.” Potter repeated.

“Move along, move along,” a portkey attended tugged the rainbow caterpillar from Potter’s hand and waved them away. “We have other portkeys arriving!”

Draco headed to the stairs and was not surprised to find Potter keeping pace with him, still trying to make small talk.

“How have you been?” 

“Dandy, Potter, and yourself?” They were nearly at the stairs now. Draco was just one floo away from leaving this painfully awkward encounter behind him and seeing his mother again. And Aunt Andromeda and cousin Teddy, of course.

“I’ve been alright. How’s your mother?” Draco scowled. Why is Potter so obsessed with his mother? 

“She’s fine, thanks for asking.” The floo corridor was in sight, and the second to last floo to the left was available. Draco headed right towards it. Potter followed.

“Well that’s good. It’s weird to be back in England. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much, you know? Ron and Hermione had a daughter this year, and I haven’t even met her. I’ve only seen my godson twice since he was three, some godfather I am, right? I got the whole month of December off work so I could-” Draco arrived at the open fireplace and cut Potter off.

“Well, this has been lovely, Potter, but I have to go meet mother now.” Draco took a handful of floo powder out of the travel pouch he kept in his pocket, and threw it into the fireplace. He then turned around to take one last, self-indulgent look at Potter. “Let’s be sure to catch up like this again in another seven years.”

Draco stepped into the roaring green flames and took a deep breath, steadying himself. Ash dug into the crevices of his shoes; when was the last time the public floo’s had been swept? He held his elbows in and trusted the network to safely guide him to his destination as he called out in a clear, firm voice: “12 Grimmauld Place.”


	2. Friday, 2 December 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to be posting this chapter, and thank you to everyone who reads it! The last chapter was very Draco-centric and caught us up with what Draco's been doing the last seven years, and this chapter does the same only with Harry. In the next chapter, which I will probably post two Sundays from now, Harry and Draco will be forced to spend time together during a Black family outing. 
> 
> Also, super thank you to my lovely wife for all your support and beta-reading, but especially for taking the baby this morning so I could sleep in and then take a really long shower. Nothing feels sexier and more well-cared for than being well-rested and spit-up free. If there was a kudos button for that, I would click it. Hopefully the late breakfast I cooked will suffice.

Harry did not sleep his first night back at Grimmauld Place. His bedroom, which had been Sirius’ bedroom before him, now more resembled a guest room at a country bed and breakfast than the rebellious teenager hideout it used to be. The posters of motorcycles and half-naked muggle women had been replaced with gentle landscapes in soft-hued frames, and the red walls had been covered with the same cream damask wallpaper that now lined every room from the ground floor up. 

Andromeda remodeled Grimmauld shortly after Harry left for Romania. He had given her blanket permission to do whatever updates she and Teddy needed, as well as unlimited access to the Black vaults to make it happen. He didn’t need the money. Andromeda had asked him if he wanted to check her designs for final approval, and she’d asked again when it came time to do his old room, but he said no. At the time, he could not handle thinking about Grimmauld Place without being consumed with anger and shame. He tried to sign the deed over to Andromeda, but she wouldn’t allow it. The house was now held in a trust to pass to Teddy upon his majority. 

If it was weird being back in his old bedroom, it was doubly weird for Draco Malfoy, of all people, to be next door in Ron’s old room (previously Regulus Black’s). Andromeda had asked Harry in advance if he would mind if she invited her sister and nephew for winter, and Harry had wanted to think he had grown enough as a person for it to be okay. 

Harry had grown; he had a mind healer that he visited regularly in Bucharest, he’d learned how to channel his negative emotions into running and weight-lifting, and he’d found satisfaction in the simple life he led on the dragon sanctuary caring for the deadly but surprisingly affectionate beasts. Harry felt steady now in a way he had never felt before in his life. So, when Harry told Andromeda it was fine if the Malfoys’ stayed at Grimmauld, he meant it. And since Andromeda had never seen Harry and Draco interact with each other except for at Draco’s trial, at which Harry had testified to Draco’s benefit, she took Harry’s word that all would be fine.

Was it fine? It was certainly strange. Especially since no one seemed to have told Malfoy that Harry would be there (or even that Harry owned the house). Yesterday had been a total clusterfuck, and Harry was still reeling from some of it. He’d made such an ass of himself in front of Malfoy when he’d slammed into him during departure and then fell on that woman like he’d never traveled by portkey before. There was something about Malfoy that just always left Harry feeling confounded. 

Harry did not expect to see Malfoy at his transfer portkey, and he was embarrassed to admit that he had been checking out Malfoy’s ass from behind the portkey attendants kiosk before he realized who the man in the suit actually was. Harry had a thing for leggy blonds, but he definitely did not have a thing for Malfoy.

“Hrrgh,” Harry groaned into his pillow. He was never going to sleep, and he needed to work off some of this weird energy. It was only four in the morning here in London, but it was already six am back on the sanctuary. Normally he would already be up and drinking his first coffee, preparing for his morning run. Harry got out of bed and gently flicked his wrist to turn the lights up just enough for him to find his rucksack and trainers. The room brightened and Harry was relieved. At least the house didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. 

“Kreacher,” Harry whispered into the dimly lit room. Kreacher appeared with a “pop”. 

“Yes, Master Harry?” Kreacher was more polite under Andromeda’s rule than he’d even been with Harry (he kept the house cleaner, too). Kreacher was honored to serve the Blacks once again, even if it was just the muggle-lover and a halfbreed. Andromeda was kind to Kreacher and, recognizing that the renovations had been difficult for him, let him keep the portrait of Mistress Walburga in his boiler room. Kreacher had been devoted to Andromeda ever since, and now held a grudge against Harry for being his true master rather than her, even though Harry’s only order these last five years had been for Kreacher to obey Andromeda.

“Sorry, I know it’s early,” Harry stammered. 

“No, never too early to wake Kreacher. I am here to serve you. Anytime you need me to leave the warmth of the boiler or the grace of Mistress Walburga’s company to help, you just call for Kreacher. No task too paltry.” Kreacher bowed low, as though this would make up for the sarcasm. Perhaps Harry should try giving him a salary again. 

“Yes, er, would you please make me a coffee and a cheese toastie? I’ll be down to eat in a couple minutes.” Harry hated asking Kreacher to do things for him that he could do himself, but Harry had no idea where anything in the kitchen was anymore, and he’d get an earful if he mucked it up. Plus, underneath (or perhaps despite) the guilt and hostility, both Harry and Kreacher knew they cared for each other. 

“Of course,” Kreacher said, bowing again low. “Anything for Master Harry.” 

Kreacher disappeared with a ‘pop’. Harry changed into his running gear and debated with himself if it was worth brushing his teeth now when he was just about to eat, or if he should do it in the shower after his run. 

If Harry really took his time, paced himself well, he could probably stay out late enough that it wouldn’t be rude to turn on a few lights when he got home. Teddy had school today, so the house would be up with in an hour or so. Maybe Harry could convince Andromeda to let him take Teddy to school on his way to visit Ron at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. 

It turned out not to be too difficult for Harry to convince Andromeda to let him take Teddy to school. No, in fact, she readily welcomed the opportunity to quietly finish her tea in her slippers and robe. Harry helped Teddy get ready while keeping an eye out for Malfoy. What kind of pajamas did he wear? Would he wear them to breakfast like Teddy and Andromeda? Or just materialize fully dressed and made up like Narcissa did at a quarter after six? Harry didn’t get a chance to find out.

At half past seven, Harry took Teddy’s hand (which was nearly vibrating with excitement) and flooed over to the Academy of Elementary Witching and Wizarding (or, the Academy of E.W.W. as it was more affectionately known). The kindergarten was kept separate from the older years in a wizarding cottage on the academy’s property and it had a private floo, so Harry and Teddy arrived in a sitting-room-turned-cubby-space where a half dozen adults and children were hurriedly sorting away their kids backpacks and winter boots or checking their kids in with the witch at the door. 

Teddy led Harry to his cubby space, and Harry was grateful Teddy understood the morning routine and didn’t need his help. Harry held Teddy’s lunch and followed him past the check-in witch (relieved that Andromeda had thought ahead to put him on the Approved Drop Off/Pick Up List) and down the hall to a small kitchen. 

“This is where my lunch goes,” Teddy pointed to the preserving cupboard his class had been assigned to, “and my classroom is upstairs. Come on! I want you to meet Ms. Hayworth.”

Harry followed Teddy upstairs to the second classroom on the left, and Teddy told him all the way about the portrait he did of the bowtruckle that lived in the tree just outside and if Harry liked it maybe Teddy could draw one of a dragon for him. Harry tried very hard to look impressed when he finally saw the drawing, but if he was perfectly honest, it looked like a barbed green penis.

“This is great Teddy!” Harry said, and Teddy beamed at him. Harry couldn’t resist. “I’d love it if you drew me one.”

“Okay, I can start it today during Art! What color dragon do you want? My favorite is blue. Are there blue dragons? I can draw one. Or green, if you like green.”

“Blue is good; you’re the artist.” Harry looked around the room. The classroom itself was not particularly different from the average muggle kindergarten, if you ignored the moving pictures, references to magic, and puffskeins piled near the window. Harry realized with an odd fascination that this was the kind of school he probably would have attended, had his parents lived. It was unlikely he would have been homeschooled like the Weasleys, and his parents didn’t seem like the sort of people who would have hired a private tutor. This was the kind of school that most of the Gryffindors in his year had attended: Neville, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender; only the muggle-borns and Ron hadn’t. What it would his childhood have been like, if he’d grown up in the wizarding world?

That thought stuck with him all the way to Diagon Alley and, by the time he arrived at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Harry had resolved to talk to Hermione about it. He wondered what it was like for her, raising a child in a world she hadn’t been raised in. He understood Rose was still very young, but how did Hermione feel about knowing she wouldn’t share these kinds of common life experiences with her child?

The door to Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes was locked when Harry arrived (it was still an hour to open), so Harry knocked on the door and waited patiently. Ron showed up a minute later, a red-headed and freckled Rose strapped firmly to his chest. 

“Harry!” Ron grinned widely and pulled Harry into a warm but awkward one-armed hug, cautious not to smush Rose. “Look at this baby! I made this! Well, Hermione did, but I helped!”

“Well done, she’s beautiful.” Harry waved at the baby, “Hi Rosey, I’m your godfather, Harry!”

Rose looked at Harry with large brown eyes, blinked twice, and then buried her head in Ron’s neck, shying away. Ron laughed.

“Yeah, she’s a bit in the stranger-danger phase now; she’ll come around.” Harry felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He knew Ron was right; Teddy had been like this at Rose’s age too; all kids went through this- it was healthy. But he hated that he was in the stranger category. His goddaughter, his best friends kid, didn’t know him. He hadn’t even been there for any of Hermione’s pregnancy or their wedding.

“Wasn’t much wedding though, was there?” Ron said, when Harry started apologising for being gone so long and missing everything. “Just a clerk and the couple behind us for witnesses. Muggles make it easy; no binding ceremony or anything! Mom is still having kittens over the whole affair. Good thing Hermione was pregnant or we’d never have heard the end of it. Can you believe the last time we saw you was the same time we made this little nugget?”

“Ew, Ron.”

“Do you remember that summer in Spain? Gorgeous! Best holiday of my life.”

Harry did remember that holiday. It was the summer before last, and he’d taken the whole month of June off. He spent the first two weeks with Andromeda and Teddy. He showed them around the dragon reserve and Bucharest, then they made their way to France where Andromeda met up with Narcissa while Harry took Teddy to Disneyland Paris. He met up with Ron and Hermione for the second two weeks, and spent the whole time feeling like a third wheel on someone else’s honeymoon. Apparently, Ron and Hermione had never taken a holiday together before without a horde of Weasleys in tow. Rose was an unexpected souvenir from the trip.

Hermione had not wanted to keep the baby when she first learned she was pregnant, and it had nearly ruined her and Ron’s relationship. A baby threw off Hermione’s timeline. She was only two years into employment at the Ministry of Magic, serving as a junior undersecretary in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and she wasn’t ready yet to put her career on hold. 

“Who’s asking you to?” Ron had argued back.

“And who’s going to stay with the baby? Do you know how much work babies are? We both work insane hours, you could get injured at any time working the beat, how are we going to handle this on top of that?”

“We’ll figure something out!” This, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say, and Hermione had stomped out of their rented London flat and apparated to Ginny’s to stay for the night. 

Harry had received a rather frantic international Floo from Ron that night. He had been drinking out on his cabin’s porch with Charlie and his partner, Luca, and the three of them responded quickly when they heard Ron crying out from the fireplace, blubbering about how he didn’t know what he had said wrong or what to do to make it right.

“Well, let's get down to it. What was the core of the problem?” Charlie asked reasonably.

“She doesn’t love me and she doesn’t want our baby!” Ron sobbed and blew his nose, oblivious to the surprise that went around the room.

“Baby?”

“Baby?”

“Ron, is Hermione pregnant?” 

“She doesn’t want it and she won’t marry me. Everything is always about her stupid career. First she goes back to Hogwarts with Ginny to finish her ‘education’, then she had to go to Oxford because Hogwarts apparently wasn’t ‘well-rounded enough’, whatever that means…. And now, she’s finally in London, she agreed to get a flat with me, and everything’s been really great! I mean, sure we’re both busy at work a lot, but things were good. Why doesn’t she want to marry me?”

“Ron, you said it yourself,” Harry answered patiently, grateful for the years of therapy that had helped him learn to organize his thoughts and communicate them clearly. “Hermione is very intellectually driven and career oriented. We love that about her; how many times has she saved our lives because of it? Teddy was a full time job for Andromeda when he was a baby; more than, because you can leave your work at work, but the baby is always there. You just said you both work a lot. What are you going to do with a baby?”

“I told her we’d figure something out!”

“Come on, Ron, this is Hermione we’re talking about. She doesn’t want to ‘figure it out’. Figuring it out means she does all the work. She wants a plan, one that doesn’t get in the way of her being the youngest female Muggle-Born Minister for Magic that Britain has ever seen, or whatever she wants.”

“I don’t want to get in the way of her plans!”

“So what are you going to do?” There was a heavy silence while Ron looked around at them frantically, panicked he was about to lose the love of his life and the family he dreamed of.

“I’ll quit the Aurors!” Even Ron looked surprised to hear himself say it, but as soon as the idea sunk in, it gained momentum with every breath. “I will! I’ll quit Aurors! It’s no fun anymore without you anyway, mate. I can take care of the baby! I’m good with all the nieces and nephews. Why not? If we move to the country we can afford a cottage with a nice yard. If mum and dad could get by on one income we certainly can; Hermione’s sure to be promoted soon enough anyway. And Merlin knows she can’t cook, but I bet mom would teach me proper if I asked. I can do this. Do you think I can do this?”

It turned out, Ron could do it. Harry and Charlie had urged Ron to talk to Hermione before doing anything rash, and Ron interpreted this to mean he should ambush her in the Ministry atrium on her way to work the following morning. He walked right in front of her, interrupting her path and nearly causing her to spill her files as he grabbed her hand and got down on one knee in front of half the ministry staff and several reporters.

“Ron, stop it!” Hermione hissed. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Hermione, please! I’ll do anything for you to marry me.” Ron begged. “I’ll quit the aurors; we can get a cottage and I’ll learn all the housekeeping spells and change every diaper! I’ll learn to cook and to budget and I’ll run the whole house so you don’t have to. There is nothing I want as much in the world as a family with you, and if you want to be Minister for Magic I will do everything in my power to help support you. Please, please, Hermione.”

Ron looked up at her imploringly. Hermione’s free hand was clasped over her mouth to hide her quivering chin, and tears streamed silently down her face. The photograph that ran on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning caught the exact minute Hermione nodded and Ron jumped up and swung her around. Harry had a copy of that picture framed on his fireplace mantle in his cabin at the dragon sanctuary, next to the photograph Ron sent him seven and a half months later of Hermione and Rose meeting each other for the first time at St. Mungos, Ron beaming at their side. 

Harry had missed so much these last five years. Where did the time go? It seemed like everyone around him was moving forward with their lives, and he was just biding time at the sanctuary, waiting for his life to start.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Hermione advised him over lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had stuck around at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes with Ron, following him around as he counted inventory and minded the shop when it was time to open. Friday mornings were slow, Ron informed Harry, so that’s why Rose came with him to work. Ron started doing George’s bookkeeping shortly after Rose was born, needing some intellectual stimulation to break up the monotony, and he would pick up shifts as needed, either bringing Rose or leaving her with Molly, as the situation required. Once George and the salesgirl, Merida, arrived to take over, Ron and Harry headed out to meet Hermione for lunch. 

“You’ve done so much important work on yourself the last few years; it’s so obvious just looking at you how much of a better place you’re in now.” Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He appreciated what Hermione was saying, but hated that his feelings could be so easily read. He focused on the pint in front of him.

“Er, thanks.”

“Anyway,” Ron interjected. “What are you doing the rest of the day? Rose and I are going to head over to the grocer when Hermione goes back to work, want to help cook dinner?”

“Can I hold the baby instead, while you cook dinner?”

“Sounds like helping to me.”

“I just need to be done by seven so I can meet up with Ginny.” Harry had been hoping he could just slide that into the conversation and move past it, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy for him. Not after all he’d done. 

“You're not getting back together with her are you?”

“Ron, really.” Hermioned tutted as Harry responded: “You know I’m gay.”

“Well, stay that way. I don’t need you breaking her heart all over again.”

“We’re just meeting for a drink! The whole team will be there.”

“When was the last time you saw each other?” Hermione asked.

Harry hated to admit it, but he hadn’t seen Ginny in six years. They hadn’t spoken in person since they broke up, not even during the short time Harry lived at the Burrow after Andromeda kicked him out of Grimmauld, before Molly shipped him off to Romania. Harry had written to Ginny to apologise a couple years ago, and a few months passed before she replied. Their correspondence was still hesitant, but Harry hoped to clear the air while he had the opportunity to do so in person. Ginny had picked the time and place. She still didn’t trust him, and that was understandable. He didn’t really deserve her trust.

Harry never laid hand nor hex against Ginny, and he’s ashamed to admit that’s the best he can say about the six months they lived together at Grimmauld after she graduated from Hogwarts. He was never home. He would work as many hours as he was allowed, and after work he would either go down the pub with the other trainees and drink himself under the table, or go cruising at a muggle gay bar. He told himself it didn’t really count as cheating if it was with a man. He told himself it was just a release. He did everything else that was expected of him, he deserved at least a little release, right?

Harry struggled after the war. He bottled up all of his emotions and wouldn’t talk to anyone about his experiences, but he lived with the memories and the nightmares, and with them came rage. Rage at Voldemort, rage at Dumbledore, rage at himself, and the press, and the Wizarding World at large for putting himself and Ron and Hermione, meer children, in the position of saving them all, and for now expecting them to continue to live up to that heroic image. He could not do it. His foundation was cracking.

When he would come home, Ginny would confront him. When he had nightmares, she would comfort him. He couldn’t handle it. He could not handle her kindness nor her contempt, and in the house where his grief felt closest, Harry’s magic went crazy. Lights flickered. Sconces broke. A vase cracked. 

One time, during an argument, one of the legs of the chair Ginny was sitting on broke and she sprained her wrist. That was the last straw for her; Ginny pulled out her wand and, in an instant, had Harry in a full body bind. He fell to the kitchen floor and laid there listening as she went upstairs and packed her things. Kreacher released him some time after Ginny left, and Harry did not go after her. Instead, he had Kreacher fetch him a bottle of firewhiskey, and he drank it still lying on the cold slate floor staring at the splintered chair beside him.


	3. Saturday, 3 December 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Teddy fixes the water heater and Harry goes on Draco's date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12:10 am EST; so close! I tried to get this done and published while it was still Sunday, but such is life. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and is my longest chapter yet. Hope you enjoy it!

Draco Malfoy had dibs on the first shower this morning. It was his date the family was going on, and he needed to look clean and upstanding for the Greengrasses. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Astoria, but it was definitely before the war. She’d been in fifth year when he’d been in seventh. Back then, she was just Daphne’s kid sister in Ravenclaw, no one he really paid attention to. If it wasn’t for the newspaper clipping he had from her scandal at the St. Mungos Gala, he wouldn’t remember what she looked like. She was pretty enough; she had a delicate sort of beauty that reminded him of his mother: high cheekbones, small frame. Luckily, there weren’t many similarities further. Astoria was dark haired whereas Narcissa was blond, and she had a warm olive complexion that was a far cry from the Black and Malfoy pallor.

Narcissa had planned the outing. It was the first time the two families had met in years, and Narcissa was determined to make a good impression; Astoria Greengrass would be quite a good match for her son, even if she was Jewish. Draco was fine with the family outing when his mother found him tinkering in the basement yesterday to inform him of their plans. She had it all planned to make the Malfoy’s seem progressive and family-oriented; Andromeda and Teddy would accompany Narcissa and Draco to meet Astoria and her parents at the London Zoo and they would walk around together, share a picnic, and reacquaint. 

Draco’s outfit was planned and laid out yesterday, picked out by him and approved by his mother. He was going to wear his warm, light heather gray cable knit sweater over darker grey slacks with his black cashmere peacoat, Italian-leather boots, and matching belt. Posh, wholesome, and positively muggle. He just needed to wash up first. 

Draco gathered his personal care bag and towel the moment he heard Potter rustling around in the room next door; he would not take the last shower again today. He had already made that mistake once, and he’d spent half of yesterday making up for it in the boiler room repairing and updating the water heater, which had somehow been overlooked during the renovations. The water heater had been well enough to provide hot water when it was just Andromeda and Teddy, but the three additional guests were simply too much for its old charms. 

The house elf, Kreacher, had shown Draco to the boiler room where he had made his nest, and Draco worked in the company of his great-aunt Walburga’s larger-than-life portrait. Meeting her had not been an enjoyable endeavor. Great-aunt Walburga screamed at the top of her oil-painted lungs about the shame and ruin of her family until he finally turned and snapped at her, and then she made things even worse by recognising him and thanking him for his good breeding and for returning to his ancestral home to bring it back to its former glory. 

Draco had no intention of returning anything to its former glory; he just wanted a hot shower. As far as he was concerned, the pureblood values he had been raised on were outdated and had brought his family nothing but ruin and trouble. Draco put up with her though, he was not going to take another cold shower in this frigid house just because he was the last one in, and he especially was not going to take a cold shower just before meeting his potential future in-laws. He needed to look respectable and relaxed, not like a pauper without heat.

He did think the date could be enjoyable, though. The zoo was definitely better than a traditional formal dinner; at least at the zoo, he and Astoria could have a real conversation away from their parents, if still in viewing distance. He was interested in her views on Wenlock's Theorem.

Teddy was excited. He had come into the kitchen after school looking for Harry, who was not around, so Draco had offered to show him some of the magic he was doing to update the water heater. For all that Draco had been nervous about spending time with a child, they had had a surprisingly good time of it. The magic was well too advanced for a seven year old to comprehend, but Draco let Teddy hold his wand while he guided the movements for some of the simpler tasks, and he’d enjoyed seeing Teddy’s face light up with thrill. If his date today turns out to be awful and boring, Draco could always take Teddy round to see the animals.

At least all that work yesterday had worn him out; he’d got a much better night’s sleep last night than he did the first evening he was at Grimmauld Place. Draco had spent the whole first night simmering with loathing and humiliation; his mother knew how he felt about Potter, why hadn’t she warned him? He didn’t need to ask though, he already knew the answer; it was because she wanted to ensure he came to England anyway. Failing to mention Potter owned the house they were staying in was exactly the sort of machination his mother would come up with to smooth over any difficulties. Just ignore the problem; that was her way. Why say anything until she absolutely had to?

When Draco accused Potter of following him when Potter had stepped out of the fireplace into the drawing room at Grimmauld place, his mother was quick to put him in line.

“Draco, darling, manners, please. Harry owns the Black residence, didn’t I tell you?” No, she had most certainly not, but he loved her, so he had taken a deep breath and apologized. 

Andromeda had been welcoming enough, offering him a tour of the house. He had arrived in the large drawing room on the first floor, which also had Teddy’s room, a guest room for Narcissa, and a small bathroom. On the ground level was Andromeda’s study and a spacious dining room with a surprisingly modern open floor plan to the foyer (clearly from the remodel), and a kitchen in the basement. Andromeda had the master bedroom on the second floor, and Potter and Draco would be staying in the two bedrooms on the attic level. Draco had not been best pleased to learn he would be sharing a bathroom with Potter, but he did appreciate having the room next to the attic; he still hoped to find time to poke about in there. The bedroom itself was modest, yet comfortable.

After he showered and dressed, Draco walked down to the kitchen for breakfast, detouring briefly to leave his peacoat on the coat rack in the foyer for later. His mother and Andromeda were already seated at the table when he arrived, both women fully dressed and sipping their tea. Teddy and Potter sat across from them, each pajama-clad and with plates overfull with blood-rare steak and eggs. Potter caught his eye, and Draco scowled. Potter looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week; did that just grow in overnight?

“Would you like hot breakfast, sir?” Kreacher asked him, a frying pan in hand. Kreacher had served steak and eggs yesterday, too. Did he not know any other breakfast dishes? At the manor, they’d always had a full English breakfast on the weekends, plates full of bacon, sausage, black pudding, beans, tomatoes, and mushrooms, and all meats were always served well done. This breakfast was measly in comparison, and the steak looked like it was barely off the cow. 

“Just tea and toast for me, thanks.” Draco informed Kreacher as he took a seat on the other side of Teddy. It was too early to have to look at Potter’s scruffy face. Narcissa looked Draco over and nodded to him.

“Good morning darling, you look very nice today.” Draco smiled wanly and mumbled a “good morning, mother” back.

“Are you feeling ready for your big zoological date?” Andromeda asked him as Kreacher brought over his tea. Draco added two sugars and a splash of milk, and stirred his tea thoughtfully, pretending he didn't notice Potter look up in surprise. Did Potter not think Draco was marriage material? No one would want to go on a date with Draco Malfoy? Well, he was wrong. Obviously. Draco carefully kept his facial expression neutral. 

“I think so. Astoria is a nice girl; I’m sure we’ll have an enjoyable outing.”

“Who's Astoria? What date?” Potter asked, still seemingly bent on acting like they had normal conversations on the regular, rather than a decade long feud.

“Astoria Greengrass? She’s Daphne’s younger sister.”

“Daphne?”

“Daphne Greengrass?” Harry shook his head and Draco stared at him, dumbfounded. “Slytherin? Our year? Dark hair, best friends with Tracey Davis? Went to the Yule ball with Anthony Goldstein?” Harry shrugged.

“Seriously? She was in half your core classes.”

“I can’t just name everyone from our year.”

“Why not? There were only 33 people in our year; it was the smallest starting class in three centuries.”

“Ok boys,” Andromeda interjected. “Teddy, I think it’s time for you to go upstairs and wash up before we leave.”

“I should probably head up too,” Potter said, nudging Teddy’s shoulder.

“Oh, Harry, guess what? I read online that at the zoo, they have muggle dragons! We should definitely go see them. They’re in the reptile house, do you think we can?” Teddy turned to Draco. “Harry’s a dragon tamer! Did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Draco answered honestly, raising his eyebrows and looking up at Potter. Well, the shoulders definitely made sense now. Potter’s ears turned red and he looked away.

“Dragon Handler," Harry mumbled, "not Tamer." 

“Whatever." Teddy shrugged. "Ok, I can’t wait. Draco, have you ever been to the zoo before?”

“Sure, a few times when I was a kid, but it’s been a long time.” 

“How about you, Harry?”

“Once.” Potter smiled to himself, reminiscing. “I set a boa constrictor on my cousin, by accident.”

“Draco is my cousin!” Teddy looked over at Draco, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Don’t give him any ideas, Harry” Andromeda said, ever the voice of reason. Potter laughed, and Draco scowled.

“Come on, Teddy. Lets race and see who can get dressed and ready the fastest. You up for it?”

“You’re on!” Teddy said, bolting out of his chair and racing up the stairs. Potter grinned after him and stood up.

“Quickly boys, you don't want to be late.” Andromeda smiled. 

“You’re not going!” Draco said, turning to Pottor, horrified.

“Draco, darling, of course he is. This is a family outing and he is a part of this family. I asked him yesterday at breakfast.” And that was when Draco understood. His mother had set this up, after all. Of course she would want Potter there when they met the Greengrasses. No image could possibly say they were reformed more than a friendly familial bond to Harry fucking Potter. 

Sometimes Draco wondered why his mother had let his father lead them on such a dark, dangerous path. Surely, she was the master manipulator in the house, the one whos plans never go awry. How could she have let him drag them down so far, and put them in harm's way? But she did stand by tradition and blood purity; she supported Voldemort's message, if not his means. She hadn’t changed; she’d just found some things were more important to her, namely him and her social network. This betrothal was two birds with one stone, for her. Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“No problem, Dromeda." Harry smirked, "We’ll be down in a minute. We wouldn’t want to be late for Malfoy’s big date!” 

***

The day was mild and clear; perfect for a midday stroll outdoors in December. A light breeze blew Harry’s hair across his face, and he swept it back and covered it with the hood of his sweatshirt. Christmas decorations were already in full force at the zoo; poinsettias, holly, and pine hung from every entry, bench, and lamppost and Christmas music played overhead as Andromeda sorted out the tickets with the cashier. Teddy bounced beside Harry, pulling on his arm to hurry him up.

“Stop,” Harry said, trying to hide his annoyance. “Your gran is buying tickets. We’ll be in in a minute.” 

“Can we get ice cream?”

“Aren’t you full from breakfast?” 

“If I’m still hungry, can I get ice cream?” Harry looked around, hoping for another adult in the group to step in and say ‘no’ for him, but everyone else was preoccupied. Narcissa was speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, all three looking too prim for a trip to the zoo, and Malfoy stood off to the side with Astoria. Malfoy looked surprisingly calm and poised for someone who was just meeting their soon-to-be betrothed for the first time in years. Harry imagined he would be a nervous mess in such a situation, but he didn’t really understand arranged marriages anyway. He also didn’t understand how he ended up spending his first Saturday back in Britain babysitting on someone else’s date. Especially Malfoy’s date. 

When was the last time Harry had even been on a date? That's a question Harry didn’t want to answer. Too long, really. The last time he’d pulled was easier; that was only a couple weeks ago at a bar in Bucharest when he'd had the weekend off. He and the other dragon handlers got weekends off on a rotational basis, and he usually tried to make the most of it. He had a few favorite haunts that usually did him well for a quick release.

Life on a dragon sanctuary was not particularly conducive to long term relationships, and most of the handlers who were married or had kids only came to work on a seasonal basis and had other, less lucrative jobs back home. There were very few full-time, year-round employees at the sanctuary. Harry was one, Charlie and his partner Luca were two others. There was a pair of siblings, Avi and Sylvia, who had taken refuge at the sanctuary as children back in the 1930’s; They’d lost their whole family during the holocaust. And there was Sergio. His mother, who had been long ago abandoned by her husband, suffered from severe hallucinations and required round-the-clock care, so he worked at the sanctuary to support her medical bills. 

The lifer’s all had stories like that. Luca was recovering from a heroin addiction; he’s been clean since 1992, but his family didn’t want him back after he’d contracted HIV from an infected needle. Charlie had been kicked out of the family when he came out of the closet in 1989. The Weasley's tended to gloss over this part of their history, and they’d come a long way in making amends since, but Charlie never felt like coming home for good after that. And then there was Harry. Harry, who had survived Voldemort, the non-stop brigading of the press, his break up with Ginny, and even the kidnapping and rescue of Teddy Lupin, had been left festering in his trauma and mauling, refusing every offer of help that came his way.

After the kidnapping, Andromeda moved into number twelve Grimmauld Place for Teddy’s safety; the house magic still recognized her and Teddy’s blood ties to the Black heritage and extended the ancient wards to them. It helped Harry to know that his godson was safe and that he was nearby should, Merlin forbid, anything ever happen again. Andromeda tried to create a calm and loving family environment, but Harry had spiraled too deep unchecked. His anger was insurmountable. The night he turned to physical violence for relief, Andromeda sent him to the Burrow. Luckily, it was only the now-removed dining room wall and his own right shoulder that had been injured. 

Molly and Arthur Weasley tried to help, but Harry didn’t want the care they offered. They coddled and tutted, always trying to feed him and make him more comfortable. What he really needed was a firm hand telling him what an arse he was being, and a healthier alternative to work out his feelings. It was Bill's idea to ship him to Romania.

Harry felt lucky to have been sent to Charlie and Luca. They were patient and understanding, and his mood swings never flustered them; his fury had nothing on a horntail. They put him to work at the sanctuary, and the tasks were so grueling and time consuming he found he could sometimes go a whole day without a single flashback from the war. He spent more time than ever in the air, and he remembered how much he loved freedom of flying. Luca found him a mind healer and took him to his first few appointments. It had taken a long time, but he started to find a new peace within himself and the world. He spoke with his therapist about Andromeda and the Weasley's, and she encouraged him to write to them and repair his relationships. He was so grateful to them for giving him another chance. Harry looked over at Andromeda, and then the unlikely group he had arrived with, and wondered at the seemingly endless well of forgiveness Andromeda pulled from. 

“Come together everyone,” Andromeda called out. “I’ve got the tickets!”

“Finally!” Teddy grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him towards the entry gate where Andromeda stood waiting. Harry took his ticket from her, and slid it in his back pocket. When he looked up, he caught Malfoy's eye and raised an eyebrow. Malfoy only stared back.

“And I also got a couple maps-” Teddy reached out and grabbed a map out of Andromeda’s hand, interrupting her.

“I want it!” 

“Teddy!” Andromeda rebuked. “Where are your manners?”

Harry took the map out of Teddy’s hand and put it in his back pocket with the ticket. It was best he held onto a map anyway; when he’d taken Teddy to Disneyland they’d spent nearly twenty minutes searching for a toilet when it turned out to be just behind the corner they’d started out from in the first place. Teddy scowled and crossed his arms. He’d been told not to let his moods affect his appearance while they were out in muggle London, and Harry was proud to see that Teddy’s hair hadn’t changed color once.

“Listen to your gran or we won’t get ice cream later.” That did the trick. Teddy immediately brightened and apologized for his behavior. No one bought the apology, of course, but it was enough to move on. 

The group of eight made their way through the gorilla kingdom, then the bird safari, all while making polite conversation. Harry liked the Greengrasses; they neither spouted off pure blood nonsense nor treated him like a celebrity. Most of their conversation centered around healing, actually. Narcissa had mentioned to the group that Mrs. Greengrass worked as a healer at St. Mungo’s in the Artifact Accidents department, in an apparent attempt to bridge conversation between her and Malfoy who, Harry learned, worked with magical artifacts. However, it turned out that Andromeda had worked as a nurse in that department for several years before becoming a medi-witch for the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she and Mrs. Greengrass knew several people in common. 

Astoria Greengrass and Malfoy seemed to need no meddling from Narcissa in order to get along. They were deep in a philosophical argument about Wenlock's Theorem as it applied to the Anapneo spell, and how to improve upon it. That was as much of their conversation as Harry was able to follow. Mr. Greengrass seemed to be following along though, and he interjected occasionally with counterpoints or support, neither showing favoritism towards his daughters nor Malfoys’ point of view. It was as though Harry was visiting the zoo with a group full of Hermiones, and it made him feel like an oaf. He didn't think of himself as smart; he'd never taken his N.E.W.T.s, he'd failed out of Aurors, and he spent most of his days just flying around making sure the dragons stayed within the magical confines of the reserve. In order to avoid looking dumb in conversation, Harry stuck close to Teddy, reading the plaques in front of the various animal exhibits and pointing out the different species. At least Teddy thought Harry was smart.

After the land of the lions, Teddy wanted to see the bugs exhibit, so Narcissa suggested the group split up. The Black sisters went with Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass to the butterfly garden, agreeing to meet up for lunch after. Harry looked over to Malfoy and Astoria to see how they felt about going to see an exhibit about non-magical bugs, but they weren’t paying attention, too busy laughing at something one of them said. Harry felt a low roar of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He took a deep breath and tried to will it away. There was no reason he should be upset about Malfoy’s arranged date going well. Harry could land a date too, if he wanted to. He resolved to go to a club later tonight and try his luck.

“Come on, Teddy.” Harry nudged the boy forward. “Lets see who can find the bug with the most legs first.”

“Caterpillars have sixteen legs!” 

Harry and Teddy led the way, and Harry held the door open for Teddy, Astoria, and Malfoy as they entered the bug exhibit. He didn’t mean it, truly he didn’t, but as Malfoy passed him by, Harry took a long, slow breath in and inhaled Malfoy's scent. He smelled fresh and clean, like soap, but with a deeper musk underneath that was rich and earthy. It was alluring, and Harry trailed his eyes after Malfoy, taking in his short crop of hair, the length of his neck, the narrowing at his waist, the firmness of his arse. Merlin, but he really needed to go out tonight.

“Harry!” Teddy called out from across the room. “Harry! Come look at this one! It’s a cockroach! It’s just like the one I found under the boiler yesterday, right Draco?”

Harry walked over to the viewing window Teddy was pointing to. That was definitely a cockroach. 

“What were you doing under the boiler yesterday?”

“I fixed the water heater.” 

“You fixed the water heater?”

“He did.” Malfoy interjected, walking over with Astoria giggling behind him. “He saw me struggling with it when he got home from school yesterday and gave me what for.”

“And then we made fun of Aunt Wally and she shouted a whole ton. It was really funny.” Teddy added, looking up at Malfoy who laughed.

A confused blend of warmth and jealousy spread through Harry’s veins. Malfoy was good with Teddy, and genuinely seemed to like him. You’d never know they only just met; Harry couldn’t imagine himself ever being so open and friendly with someone he hardly knew, but then he remembered Hagrid coming into his life with a bang, and thought again. Besides, they were family, and with them standing just next to each other, Harry could see some of the Black resemblance in their mouths and the ways their eyes crinkled when they both smiled.

“And where were you all night, Potter?” Draco drawled, catching him looking. Harry blushed.

“I met Ginny for a drink.” He mumbled, then realized it sounded like they had been on a date. “All the Harpies were there; she flies with them now, you know.”

“Ginny Weasley?” Astoria asked, suddenly seeming interested in their conversation. Up until that point, Harry had assumed she wasn’t listening to them, too absorbed in reading the B.U.G.S. info pamphlet provided by the zoo. 

“I know Ginny Weasley!” Teddy jumped up. Harry wondered if the child ever tired. “One time, Ron and George took me to see the Harpies practice, and they let me play with them.”

“No they didn’t.” Harry said, skeptically. Draco raised an eyebrow at him, but Harry just shrugged.

“They did too, but Gran got mad when she found out so now I’m not allowed.” 

“Do you see the Harpies often?” Astoria asked.

“I didn’t know you liked Quidditch.” Draco said, turning his attention back to her. 

All of a sudden, Harry was over the day. Why was he here? How did he get roped into this? He had just been minding his own business, eating breakfast yesterday morning when Narcissa asked if he wanted to go with the family to the zoo. In what world does that mean going on a date with Malfoy and his soon-to-be betrothed? He doesn’t need this. He’ll finish the trip to the zoo, they’ll be leaving soon after lunch anyway. He’s hungry, and food will be a useful distraction. After that, he’s done. Harry starts forming a plan in his mind.

Maybe he’ll kick around the countryside a bit on Sirius’ old bike; he hasn’t done that in years. Restoring it had been one of his pet projects after the war, one of the few useful things he’d done. Well, he’d thought it was useful. Mrs.Weasley had called it a death trap, and nearly lost it on him when he’d shown up one Sunday dinner with Ginny holding on behind him. She’d made them floo back that night, frog marched them right into the fireplace throwing the floo powder in for them, saying Harry could come back for the bike, alone, the next day. He and Ginny apparated back that evening, just late enough for Mrs. Weasley to have gone to bed, and rode through the countryside under the stars. It had been beautiful that night, and she'd wrapped her arms around him under his jacket, and for a moment the world had felt right. That was when things were still good between them. 

Heat stung behind his eyes, and Harry took a couple deep breaths to calm his nerves. The coping techniques he’d learned in therapy were useful; he wished he had gone to a mind healer earlier in his life. He had thoroughly ruined the one good relationship he’d had in his life, and he felt lucky that Ginny had even been willing to meet up with him last night. It had been awkward at first, but after a few pints and a round of darts, things started to feel like old times, like they could be friends again. Harry at least wasn’t anxious about taking Teddy to tomorrow nights Weasley Sunday dinner any longer. After everything they had been through, the Weasley’s were family, and that included Ginny. He would get through the rest of today, and tomorrow would be fine.

Yes, Harry thought to himself. A nice long ride on his motorbike, then maybe a spot to drink at the club. That’s what he needed.


	4. Sunday, 4 December 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be published on Valentines Day. It's a smut sandwich with some angst in the middle. I thought it would be a shorter chapter, but it's actually the longest one yet, thus the late publish. Thanks for your patience!

Draco knew he was dreaming. This is not what the club looked like when he was there earlier with Astoria; the lights were too steady and the music persisted only as a hum in his bones. Besides, only in a dream would he have Potter grinding up against him on the dance floor, arms snaked around Draco’s hips, breath heavy and hot against his ear. In reality, he’d only seen Potter from across the club by chance, dancing with an eager young man while Draco’s soon-to-be wife flashed the corseted bartender for no apparent reason at all, as he was still expected to pay for their drinks. 

“Is that Harry?” Astoria had asked. “Did you invite him here? I didn’t know he was gay.”

Draco shook his head “no.” He hadn’t known Potter was gay either, but now it was all he could think about. Potter was gay. Harry Potter was gay. Annoying and self-rightous, sure, but also gay. Wouldn’t this have made the papers? British wizarding society wasn’t exactly the most progressive community. Draco had tried not to stare. He felt confident Potter hadn’t seen him, not that it mattered much anyway, as Potter soon disappeared into the crowd with his dance partner, and Draco didn’t catch even a glimpse of him again for the remainder of the night. Not that he looked. 

In his dream, their kiss was sloppy and wet. Draco knew it wasn’t real, but he reached for it anyway, sinking his fingers in the folds of his sheets, imagining them deep in Potters hair, scraping his scalp, making him shiver under Draco’s touch. Dracos pictured his hot, flat tongue following the length of Potter’s jawline, nibbling down his neck, pushing his thighs open, feeling him hard and insistent; wanting. Draco moaned, and his hips jerked against his bedsheets. The humming in his bones was getting louder, turning to a low roar. Was that still the club music?

Draco tried to rub harder against the body, but he couldn’t make purchase. He reached for the broad shoulders but only met air. He tried again, and the scene slid away, and Draco was wrenched into consciousness, cock straining against his cotton flannel pajamas, mouth dry and rank. 

“Fuuck.” 

Draco rubbed his face and tried to regain his bearings. He was in his attic guest room at Grimmauld Place, it was still dark, and he was thirsty and hot. He could hear a loud rumbling coming from the street. Draco pushed the duvet aside and adjusted his prick, then stood up to look out the window, just as the rumble came to an end. The streetlight across the square illuminated one of those two-wheeled contraptions muggles sometimes ride. Draco watched as the rider removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, and realized with dismay that it was, of course, Potter. Getting home at what had to be nearly dawn. Had he been with that man from the club all this time? At least he was getting off the contraption alone. 

Going to the club with Astoria last night had been a bad idea. He didn’t need to fill his head with schoolboy fantasies; he had a life to build! But what kind of life? He and Astoria had some great conversations yesterday, and Draco had enjoyed being part of a large family outing. Teddy had only made things better, with his odd observations and insistence on reading every plaque. But after the zoo, they’d ditched the family to go pub crawling, and Draco had never been a good drinker. He was fine sipping a glass of wine or two slowly over a nice dinner, or partaking in some champagne or spirits at a party, but he could never put alcohol away like Astoria did last night, and he should have known better than to try to keep up. But she was still young, only twenty-three, and hell, he was only twenty-five, there’s no rush on building a family, not really. They could afford to have a little fun, first.

And Draco would be damned if Potter hadn’t looked appealing yesterday, even wearing that absurd hood attached to his sweater all day at the zoo. He’d been pretty decent too, especially considering Narcissa had clearly tricked him into being a part of their courting rituals. But the thought of Potter getting laid, Potter on his back, knees up, while the blond he’d been dancing with at the club (had that been the guy Potter had gone home with?) plowed into him, filled Draco’s blood with acidic heat. Was he jealous? He was definitely still turned on. 

Draco palmed his cock over the fabric of his pants and gave it a small squeeze. There was a damp spot near the tip. Fuck, but he was close. He waited until he heard the tell-tale squeak from the second-to-top step indicating Potter was in, then listened as Potter shuffled to the bathroom across the hall. Once Draco heard the shower turn on, Draco relaxed and closed his eyes, trying to catch the remnants of his dream as he slipped his hand under the drawstring at his waist. He imagined Potter standing naked under the spray of water, soaping himself up, rinsing sweat and come off his body. Draco groaned, and came into his hand.

***

Draco was late to breakfast. He’d had trouble rousing himself when his morning alarm had gone off, and he was distracted in the shower by thoughts of Potter washing up just a short while earlier. He had leaned against the cool shower tiles while steam filled the air, and luxuriously rubbed one out, grateful for the work he’d done on the boiler earlier as the shower remained hot all the way through to the end. 

He didn’t put too much effort into his wardrobe today, just some comfy black trousers and a casual blue pullover. Draco was only visiting Greg and Luna today, after all, and neither were the sort to mind. He had to admit, he was still a bit perplexed by their relationship, even though he’d heard from both of them throughout their romance. Luna was the only person who had visited Draco during his house arrest; no one with death eater ties was allowed, and no one else wanted to. Draco wasn’t sure why she wanted to. His family had been so relieved when she had been brought to them to imprison instead of sent back to the Carrows or, worse, been gifted to Fenrir Greyback. She may not have been family they liked, but she was still family, and they could ensure her safety at Malfoy Manor. 

Greg had kept in touch by owl. Their floo’s were disabled during their house arrests, so for the first couple years, it was the only way. Greg and Luna had met during his community service. He had been sentenced to physical labor, and was assigned to the Rebuild England post-war revitalization program that fixed houses destroyed by Death Eaters. The Lovegood property had been one of the first houses on the list due to Luna's status as prisoner-of-war, her father’s failing health (and St. Mungo’s limited resources), and their connections to the new regime vis-a-vis Harry Potter. Draco was grateful. He had donated to the program to supplement the reparations his family paid, and had even become the Quibbler’s top investor in order to help Luna support herself and her father. That ridiculous rag gave him a lot of joy these past few years, and was, surprisingly, actually turning a profit under her tutelage. 

Draco was walking downstairs, reflecting on how the Yule issue of the Quibbler should be out soon, when his mother called him over.

“Draco, good morning. Come join us for a spot of tea.” Narcissa and Andromeda were sitting in the little study-turned-sitting room off the dining room on the ground floor, which was lovely and bright in the morning light, with large windows looking out into the garden. 

“You’re up early,” Andromeda said. “I expect Teddy and Harry will lie-in till at least noon.”

“Mmm,” Draco said, non committedly, looking around for a bit of toast. 

“We were just talking about yesterday, darling. The Greengrasses were quite taken with you.”

“Astoria seems like a nice girl,” Andromeda added. “Nothing like I expected, having seen her in the society pages of the Prophet. Harry always says that paper is trash, but they have to print the truth sometimes, I’d say, else they’d be out of business.”

“The way he scowls, I just thought he didn’t like getting his picture taken.” Narcissa commented.

“Potter, not like getting his picture taken?” Draco said with a mouthful of toast and disbelief. “He did a whole exclusive story when we were in Hogwarts, he loves it!”

“Draco, manners.” Narcissa chided him. “Besides, a boy can still be camera shy.”

“He’s not going to like what the Prophet had to say about him today,” Andromeda nodded to the paper folded on the small coffee table next to the tea and toast. 

Draco picked the newspaper up and turned it over to reveal the cover story. There was a large picture of Potter and Ginny Weasley above the fold. They were hugging just outside of a bar; it didn’t seem like they’d noticed the photographer at all, the photo looping as they moved into each other's arms as though to say goodbye. It was nighttime and it looked like they had been on a date. The bar was done up for christmas, with a tree in the window and the lights twinkling from the rafters. Against the light powdering of snow, the scene looked idyllic. The photograph barely needed the headline to get the news across: “Back Together At Last! How Harry Potter Lost and Found Love In Post-War Britain.” 

Draco didn’t need to read the rest. He already felt like retching. Of course Potter would get back together with Girl Weasley. She was the perfect match for him; everyone clearly thought so. What was Potter even doing at a muggle gay club last night anyway? Was it some kind of last hurrah? Shouldn’t he have been meeting his girlfriend for another date? Or was wizarding England’s great Savior, the Chosen One, actually a duplicitous two-timer? Draco found he didn’t much care for that idea either. 

He left the paper in the sitting room with his mother and aunt, and made his excuses. He did have plans, after all, and he wanted to bring a nice house gift to Luna, this being his first time seeing her home since it was rebuilt. He had promised her he’d take a look at her printing press and see what he could do to modify it for the Quibblers new demand, but he wanted to bring her something tangible as well. He’d been in too much a rush to get out of the country when his house arrest had lifted, to see her home before, but Luna had included sketches, and he remembered it from before the war. It was the same cylindric tower it used to be, but now instead of appearing as a chess rook, it looked like a large potted plant. The rooftop garden had been built up more recently; Greg had found work in a magical landscaping company and Luna was delighted to put his skills and the Quibblers profits to good use. 

Draco stopped at Diagon Alley before heading over to see Greg and Luna. He browsed through the shelves at Flourish and Blotts for some time before choosing a book for Luna on the use of ancient ruins in modern magical gardens, and then he wandered some more just to kill time before Ogden’s opened; Greg would appreciate a bottle of Old Oggie’s. It was still a bit early to meet Luna and Greg when Draco was finished shopping, so he took a brief detour to the Quidditch Shop just for old times sake. There were some toy brooms in the window that he knew Teddy would drool over, but Draco had the good sense to not buy one prior to asking Andromeda first. Instead, he picked up a schedule of upcoming matches. He’d always been a big supporter of Puddlemere United, and he wouldn’t mind catching a game while he was here.

As lunch drew near, Diagon Alley started getting crowded with the usual pre-Christmas rush. Draco made one last stop at the bakery to pick up a loaf of sourdough and a sticky toffee pudding to compliment the meal Luna promised. He wished the line would move faster. The yeasty scent radiating from the ovens made his mouth water, and his stomach was audibly growling as the cashier handed him his change and purchases. He had hardly mumbled a “thanks” before turning around to leave when he walked smack into a soft leather wall and fell. 

“Alright there, Malfoy?” 

Fuck. Oh, fuck. That wasn’t a wall, that was Hagrid. Draco felt the color drain from his face in horror. Draco had been such an utter shit in school. Disrespectful, disobedient, tried to get him fired, and nearly got his pet hippogryph beheaded. He’d written an apology letter during his house arrest; he’d written everyone he could think of an apology letter, but he hadn’t got anything back from most people, and that included Hagrid. He couldn’t face him. Even if Hagrid did forgive him, Draco couldn’t face him. Hagrid was still looking down at him on the floor. There was nothing left to do. Draco grabbed his purchases and ran.

***

“What about: ‘yes, thank you, and sorry for not seeing you there?” Greg suggested after Draco showed up on his and Luna’s doorstep utterly mortified and unsure how he should have reacted.

“Yes, well, that’s very good now,” Draco said accepting a cup of tea from Luna, who placed the tea tray on the rooftop patio table and took a seat next to Greg. “But I wasn’t in my right mind at the time.”

“Mmm.” Greg said, unhelpfully. 

“You do seem to have a lot of wrackspurts hanging around your ears, you know, and they can make your brain rather fuzzy.”

“I don’t know what those are.” Draco doubted they were real, but he left that to himself.

“Isn’t she brilliant? I can’t even see the little buggers.” Greg put his arm around Luna’s shoulders and smiled at her, "never thought I'd end up with anyone so smart as her. Ravenclaw, you know." 

Draco took another look at Greg. He seemed happy in a way that Draco couldn’t remember ever having seen him before, and he wondered if he and Astoria would ever have anything like that. Could they even, while living their own separate lives? That’s what they’d agreed to, after all. Marriage to please the parents, a baby in ten years to secure an heir, and to keep their personal affairs personal. Partnership and friendship. But Greg and Luna seemed to have something else, something he couldn’t quite fathom for himself.

Draco added two sugars and a splash of milk to his tea and stirred. 

“Have you heard any news about the alleged international dragon smuggling ring?” Draco shook his head “no” and wondered if this conspiracy was more or less real than wrackspurts. 

“I don’t have a lot of details yet, it’s breaking news, but if we need an interview, do you think you’d be willing?”

“To do what?” Draco asked.

“Oh, and you’re staying with Harry, aren’t you?” A fact apparently everyone had known but him. “He might have something to say too.”

“Doesn’t he always?” 

“Draco,” Greg warned. He loved Luna too much to let Draco go too far down one of his staulkery Potter conspiracies in her presence. Potter was her friend, after all. Not that Draco heeded the warning.

“What, didn’t you see the headlines in today’s Prophet?” Draco asked. “It appears Potter and Weasley are back together again.”

“The Prophet is just trying to distract the country while they run an illegal sting operation against the werewolf population.” Luna advised. 

“Besides, isn’t he a bit…” Greg flourished his arm around a bit, then shrugged. “Like you?”

Draco felt a hot rage boil at the bottom of his belly. Does everyone just know everything about Potter? What houses he owns, who he’s godfathered to, who he fucks. Are they all just keeping information away from him on purpose? They aren’t in Hogwarts any longer, does no one trust him to act like an adult?

“So then why doesn’t he come out for the papers? If he’s so gay and not-with-Weasley.”

“Draco,” Greg warned again.

“I think he likes his privacy,” Luna answered. “Besides, everyone knows Barnabus Cuffe is a raging homophobe. He stopped the Prophet from mentioning anything about Dumbledore's love life at all in his obituary, even though some of his lovers were quite well known in their own right, like Grindlewald and Clark Gable.”

“Dumbledore wasn’t gay,” Draco said, though part of his mind did wonder.

“Yes, that’s what Barnabus wants you to think.”

***

It was the stiffness in Harry’s shoulders and neck that finally roused him around noon. He hadn’t meant to be out riding so late last night, but Sirius’ old bike broke down in Brighton and it had taken a few well-placed spells to keep it together long enough to get it home. As it was, he’d had to make several stops to update his charms along the way, and it took twice the time it should have. He couldn’t do anything about the muffler though, and he’s sure he must have woken the whole block when he finally arrived at Grimmauld Place. 

Harry looked around for his luggage and dug out a paracetamol from one of the side pockets along with a mild muscle relaxing potion Sergio brewed for the other dragon handlers on the reserve. Harry really hasn’t been keeping up with his exercises well since arriving in England; he’ll have to make sure to start doing better or he won’t be able to keep up with his duties when he returns to Romania. Andromeda said he could clear out some space in the attic if he needed more room for his weights.

Harry stretched his arms above his head and took a deep breath. Going to the club last night had been a mistake. The whole night had been a mistake, really. All he’d meant to do is go in for a quick drink (check), meet a cute guy (check), have a little fun dancing (check), then a quickie in the loo or the alley out back. It was when they were dancing the plan went awry. He should have just been focused on his dance partner. Why did he have to look around? It’s not like the club was particularly interesting; just a dingy old warehouse with flashing colorful lights. Why did he have to look?

Harry probably wouldn’t have recognised Malfoy if he hadn’t made eye contact with Astoria. Malfoy had been turned away from him to speak with the bartender when Harry first noticed them. Again, he’d been checking out Malfoy’s arse; why did it have to be such a good one? At first he felt confused, then angry. This was a gay club. For gay people. Why did they have to bring their heterosexual date here, of all places? Did they follow him? Were they having a good laugh? He could just see the headlines now: The Boy Who Lived to - well, actually, he’d rather not think about that. He was still hoping he could get through a month in England without having to see his own face splashed across the garbage rag, The Daily Prophet. He’d turned and walked away from them, away from his dance partner, and out of the club. He lifted the disillusionment charm hiding his motorcycle in the alley and rode away into the night.

He felt a bit stupid about it now. It’s not like straight people weren’t allowed in the club, they could go anywhere they wanted. But that was the problem; they could go anywhere they wanted. Where else could queer people go to meet but the bars and clubs? He didn’t want to cruise a park late at night; the risk of being harrassed by police or assholes was too high. The world may be changing towards tolerance and acceptance, but there weren’t exactly protections in place for queers in the muggle or wizarding world. When Harry left the country five years ago, a person could still be sentenced up to six months in Azkaban, just for performing a bonding ceremony between two witches or wizards! 

But this was Malfoy, entitled prick extraordinaire, why shouldn’t he feel he could just go wherever he wants? Crash a gay club on his hetero-date whenever he wants? Wear whatever tight trousers he wants, and bend over the bartop like half the men in the club wouldn’t take a gander and wonder what’s for sale. He must know how he looks; he’s too cocky and vain not to. Why did he have to grow up to be so fucking hot? It just wasn’t fair. 

Harry gathered up his clothes for the day and listened at his bedroom door to see if he could hear Malfoy in the next room. Was he even home? Or had he stayed out all night with Astoria? Harry didn’t want to think about that. He’d already showered when he got home earlier this morning to remove the grease and dirt from his body, but he felt another shower was in order. Some hot water would be nice on his aching shoulders. He appreciated the updates Malfoy had made to the boiler the other day; showers at Grimmauld used to be cold and depressing. He wished he could have gotten a glimpse of Malfoy fixing it. A sweaty, dirty Malfoy on his back doing manual labor was quite an image. 

He held onto that picture as he dashed across the hall to the bathroom and turned on the shower, watching the steam rise from the tap. Harry knew Malfoy would have fixed the boiler with his wand, but in his fantasy, he held a muggle wrench and knew how to use it. Harry stepped into the shower and stood under the hot spray of water, one hand slipping down to palm his semi-hard cock. He leaned back against the wet tile wall and let his fingers curl around his shaft, stroking himself silently. He slid his foreskin slide back and watched the swollen red head leak precum as he thrusted in his fist. He imagined Malfoy on his knees in front of him, mouth open, tongue out, eager and willing. 

Harry doesn’t hold back. He imagines Malfoy taking him into his mouth, swallowing him down. He wants it. Harry wants to fill Malfoy’s mouth with come, wants him to lap it up like he needs it to live. He wants Malfoy to want it so bad he has to take himself in hand just as Harry has himself in hand now. Harry picks up the pace, pumping his prick hard and fast, hips bucking, his breath ragged and raw. He braces himself imagining Malfoy desperate for more, and comes against the porcelain wall in spurts of white spunk.

“Fuck,” Harry groans. A shiver runs through him, and in an instant, he is filled with shame and regret. This was a mistake. He needs to get Malfoy out of his head. 

Harry turns towards the water and rinses himself clean, making sure to clear the wall of any lasting evidence of his misdeeds. He just needs a good distraction, and this mishap will be well forgotten. He’s taking Teddy to the Burrow this afternoon for Sunday dinner with the Weasley’s, that will put him right. At the very least, he’ll be too busy to think about Malfoy while he’s there, and tomorrow, he will focus on fixing his bike. 

Harry turns off the shower and dries himself off, trying to convince himself that this was just a one-time fantasy. He isn’t into Malfoy. Everything is normal and fine. He dresses quickly and only barely glances at Malfoy’s still-shut bedroom door as he makes his way downstairs for breakfast. A cup of coffee instead of tea, this morning, he thinks. Maybe he’ll even read the paper; he knows Andromeda still gets the Sunday edition. Surely that will give him something else to think about.


End file.
